


Mysterious Emo Bitches

by fourfreedoms



Category: Generation Kill, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new bartender in Brad's favorite bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterious Emo Bitches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nomelon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/gifts).



Brad doesn’t like mysterious emo bitches. The new bartender in his favorite dive hums along to The Cure on the jukebox, has to push bangs out of his eyes, and gets kind of weird about the shit that’s happening on the TV. He's totally a mysterious emo bitch. Brad misses CJ, the old bartender who used to talk about his days working in a porn shop, like the time he got help up at gun point for porn tapes. The new guy’s taciturn at best. He’ll answer a direct question and chat for a bit if pushed, but there seems to be nothing to him. At least not other than the fact that he’s clearly depressed.

But then a careless patron shoves his glass off the bar, and the new guy catches it, hand shooting out in that dangerous moment they were all expecting it to crash to the floor in a shower of alcohol and glass. He sets it back on the bar top, only a little vodka and tonic dripping out over the side. Brad has never seen reflexes like that.

He knows the guy’s not military, but when Brad watches him now, he looks with new eyes. He can tell he’s had some kind of freaky training. The next time Brad comes in with a couple of guys he watches the new guy process every one of them, filing them away like he’ll need the data later. He wields a knife like an iron chef and has clearly picked up a book a time or two. He’s a puzzle.

Brad plops down on a barstool in front of him one evening while the new guy’s polishing glasses and says cheerily, “Where’d you do your undergrad?”

“Stanford,” the new guy says and then looks up, startled.

Brad grins, orders a Glenfiddich on the rocks, and slides over a twenty as he takes a long sip. He leaves without waiting for change.

The next pieces of information he picks up are that out of all the shots people buy the new guy, he only likes tequila; he has a tattoo just under his shirt collar, when Led Zeppelin comes on the jukebox it makes him sad, and that Stanford education lent him some authority about James Joyce and Derrida. He’s like the emo lit major version of the LT.

When Brad leaves, heading back through the alleyway to get to his bike, he finds the new guy leaning up against the brick wall, arms crossed. “You need to stop trying to figure me out.”

Brad cocks his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “You want tell me what it is you’re hiding?”

“No.”

“Well, too bad about that then.” Brad turns to walk out of the alley, but finds his way barred by the new guy.

“I’m serious,” the new guy says, eyes narrowed.

“I’ll bet you are, princess,” Brad replies, “but you want to get out of my way.”

The new guy laughs and doesn’t back down. He dodges the helmet Brad swings at him, and steps under Brad’s raised arm, into his guard, thrusting him back against the wall with a palm over his sternum. Brad gasps, the wind knocked out of him. They’re of a height. Brad might even be an inch taller, but somehow the new guy has the ability to loom like he’s a foot taller. Like how the LT could tower over guys when he was pissed off.

Brad kisses him--the first person he hasn’t paid for in years. He thinks he does it more to disarm the new guy than anything else. The new guy tolerates it for exactly a second before violently pulling away, large hand over his mouth.

“Is that why you…uh…were you interested…I don’t…” the new guy stutters out, staring at him.

Brad looks him over. “Yeah, you do.” The new guy looks somewhat betrayed. He stares at the fingers he touched to his mouth. Brad waits a moment and then says, “You going to come with me if I ask?”

New guy shakes his head. “It’s not me you want.”

Brad shrugs and looks up at the sky stained blackish red by light pollution. “Ain’t that the way.” He turns to go for his bike and can’t help a smile when he hears footsteps following behind him.


End file.
